


Grinning With All Her Teeth

by SailorFish



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Csethiro is ready to fight EVERYTHING, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-25 13:10:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18575155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorFish/pseuds/SailorFish
Summary: Don't you feel sorry for Csethiro Zhasan? The Emperor's wife has to walk side-by-side with the Emperor's whore.--*--*--Ugly rumours abound regarding the Emperor's secretary, and the Empress is unwilling to let them slide any longer. AKA: Csevet is alarmed, Maia is concerned, and Csethiro is ready to fuck shit up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this first chapter to fill a kinkmeme prompt (about Maia's wife bonding with Maia's "work husband"), and then decided to write the follow-up like a year later. So the chapters are slightly disjointed, but I hope you enjoy the fic anyway!

She whirled around so sharply Csevet had to leap to the side to avoid stepping onto her gown.

Amidst the ensuing titters, Csethiro demanded, "Who said that?"

Their laughter died at the look on her face. There were a little more than a dozen of them standing together, too many for her to be able to pinpoint immediately whose voice she had heard. They had been enjoying the morning sunshine in the gardens. They were not enjoying it now.

"Csethiro Zhasan, please don't..."

Csevet's words were a quiet murmur behind her. Csethiro couldn't look at him. A mere two months ago, she would have... well, she wouldn't have been in that huddle. But the words themselves wouldn't have bothered her other than how they reflected upon her.

_Don't you feel sorry for Csethiro Zhasan? The Emperor's wife has to walk side-by-side with the Emperor's whore._

The person who had spoken had been slightly less crude - but only just. Shame and bile choked her; Csethiro's hand twitched towards her sword. The Elven nobles, already pale and delicate, blanched further.

"Slander against our husband's esteemed secretary is slander against our esteemed husband," she said tightly. "Once again - who of you spoke?"

Apart from Csevet's sharp, half-aborted intake of breath, there was silence.

No matter - it had been a male voice and there were only four men in the group before her. She would have the truth from them before long. But! The look on her face must have been terrible. Without the nobles doing anything so crass as moving, they suddenly managed to suddenly find themselves an extra half-step away from the culprit. Alone in a widening circle of space, the young nobleman lifted his chin defiantly.

Perhaps mentioning her husband had been a mistake - Edrehasivar VII was known to be merciful. She stepped forward. One hand curled around the hilt of the sword.

"Ethuverazhid Zhasan!"

Csevet's voice rang out behind her, horrified and urgent. _Empress of the Elflands._ It was the most formal way he could appeal to her short of throwing himself on the ground at her feet. She swallowed, gathered her courage, and turned back to look at him directly.

At first glance, her husband's secretary looked, as always, infuriatingly perfectly composed. But his eyes were wide and his ears were pressed flat against his head. Their very tips burned a bright, bright red. Csevet was truly mortified, she realised. Mortified, panicked, and... she studied the set of his ears for a moment longer. ...Pleased.

Overjoyed, really, that Csethiro was sticking up for him.

It might have been the first time in his life that a noble - other than Maia, of course - had stood up for him against another. Csethiro didn't yet know him well enough to be certain of that - but from the wideness of his eyes she rather thought it likely. Her shame rose another notch, until she could taste it at the back of her throat.

She should stop right now, Csethiro thought dimly. She knew she had a tendency to act and speak without thinking through. She could let the nobleman go with this warning, and tomorrow, Csevet would nevertheless look at her in wonder.

Deliberately, she smoothed down the front of her skirts, fingers splayed open. Before her, Csevet closed his eyes for a moment in relief. But his ears drooped just the slightest hint lower.

No. That, Csethiro couldn't allow.

When he opened his eyes again, he found her grinning at him with all her teeth.

Couriers were famous for being quick on the uptake, and Csevet's blank face contorted quickly into a look of horror. Ah, it was very possible that in trying to help the secretary she was also creating a lot more work for him.

But the redness from his ears had spread to his cheeks and his ears had twitched ever so slightly higher. He'd get over it.

She whirled back towards the other Elves, whose faces were just beginning to sport the tell-tale signs of arrogant relief. Her grin curled into something altogether more bloodthirsty.

 _Dost not concern thyself with the mercy of the far-off Emperor,_ it told them, _when thy Empress stands before thee._

The culprit flinched satisfactorily, and the other nobles miraculously found themselves a further two steps away from him.

"And slander against our esteemed husband," Csethiro continued. "Is slander against _us_. We will see thee on the duelling grounds at dawn."

Without a second glance, Csethiro Zhasan swept past them. Csevet paused only to make a brief note, then followed.


	2. Chapter 2

“We know you do not keep secrets from our husband,” Csethiro Zhasan had said with a crooked smile. “We do not expect you to keep this one. Tell him we will look for him at dawn tomorrow.”

But Csevet _did_ keep secrets from Maia. For one, he’d never told him of the slurs thrown his way since he’d become the Emperor’s secretary. With every step he took towards the Acethmeret, Csevet’s heady elation at Csethiro Zhasan’s kindness faded.

Dread replaced it.

He'd told himself it wasn't a problem. There was no shame in a nobleman keeping some entertainment around. Moreover, an some in the court believed the former courier had earned his promotion on his back, they misattributed Csevet's ideas to the Emperor. So the rumours did not harm Maia and perhaps they even benefited him, and he’d told himself it wasn’t a problem.

Csevet had miscalculated. He’d forgotten - or rather (couriers were honest with themselves), he’d let himself forget - to take Csethiro Zhasan into account.

Csethiro Zhasan, who surely didn't enjoy hearing whispers that her husband let another into his bed. Csethiro Zhasan, who was unaware he’d maneuvered the Corazhas into choosing her as Empress because he’d heard her spirited and unyielding - qualities Maia needed - and had no reason to hold him in favour. Csethiro Zhasan, who'd defended him nonetheless.

Maia was kind, and he’d forgiven his secretary many past mistakes, but he would never allow his Empress to be mocked like this. When Csevet quietly let himself into the Tortoise Room, he did so with the certainty that it was for the last time.

Still, that was no reason not to do his job well while he still had one. For the next three hours, Csevet kept his hands from trembling as he answered letters, wrote reports, and, when Maia came back from his meeting with the Barizheise ambassador, made notes about the progress between the two empires.

Then it was time to go over the schedule for the next day. Csevet stood from his desk and approached Maia’s favoured chair near the fireplace. He clasped his hands behind his back so they could not betray him.

“At seven o’clock tomorrow, the Empress asks you to meet her on the dueling grounds,” said Csevet.  “Where she will be duelling Vana Tazhedar.”

In the stunned silence that followed, Csevet resolutely tried, and failed, to keep his ears pointing neutral. Maia blinked at him. Csevet’s glance darted across the room to the nohecharei; Cala was blinking in time with his Emperor and Beshelar was frowning.

“Said Csethiro _why_ she challenged Dach’osmer Tazhedar?” Maia asked finally.

Csevet forced himself to keep meeting his Emperor's eyes.

“Serenity, she fights to defend our honour.”

The Empress of the Elfenlands was risking injury to defend a former courier's honour. Oh, a very useful former courier, who was a key member in her husband's administration, to be sure. But a courier nonetheless. It did not sound any less ridiculous when said aloud.

“...Beg pardon? What has Dach'osmer Tazhedar done to you?”

A note of protectiveness had interlaced with the confusion. That was the sort of man Maia was. The idea that the Emperor would keep Csevet as his pet whore was laughably ludicrous - and Csevet would laugh, were he not about to lose the best thing that had ever happened to him over it. He shook his head instead.

“It is no matter,” he began.

“It is _some_ matter if our wife will duel over it!”

Other noblemen snapped at their secretaries or yelled at their servants. The Emperor did not. Csevet drew back, fumbling, ears pressed tight against his head.

“Of course, Serenity! We mean only to say that it is our mistake. The… the rumours about our role in your office reached Csethiro Zhasan's ears.”

“Your role?”

His bewildered questions reminded Csevet of those days at the beginning of Maia’s reign, over a year ago. When he’d been drowning under responsibility and politics, and had needed Csevet's help for every tiny task. Both men had worked hard to ensure that the role Csevet played in Maia's life was no longer so crucial; Edrehasivar VII would manage fine without him now. Csevet licked his lips.

“They claim that I serve not at your desk but in your bed.”

For a moment more, Maia’s face stayed frozen. And then wrath blossomed on it. Csevet had truly miscalculated. He sank immediately to his knees, and pressed his face in the cold marble.

“I will resign at once, Serenity,” he whispered bleakly.

Csevet had never seen Maia genuinely angry before. He had especially never seen Maia genuinely angry at _him_ , for all the many times he had overstepped his boundaries. (Another twist of the knife: if he was to be banished and never see his Emperor's face again, his last memory would forever be of it contorted in a snarl.)

It was a secretary's job to anticipate his master's whims and actions. But Csevet had no frame of reference for a furious Emperor; all he could do was kneel, and wait, and try to still his shameful shaking.

For many terrible moments, there was simply silence.

Then finally: “Csevet, _no_. Please rise.”

It was not the words that he had been braced for.

And still, he could not bring himself to obey. How could he face his Emperor’s anger and his own shame? Coward that he was, Csevet kept his face to the ground.

Maia breathed in and out, then said, “How long has such slander been circulating?”

“Since I first came into your service, Serenity.”

“But why would you - Csevet, _please_ get up! I am not wroth. But why hast thou not told me of it before?”

The Emperor's formality had finally broken. Yet… this time, Csevet heard not only the words but also the tone. There was truly no anger in Maia's voice, just concern. And Csevet could disobey his master once, but not a second time. He picked himself off the ground, and kept his eyes and ears lowered. (He could feel Lieutenant Beshelar’s horrified, disapproving scowl regardless.)

“Because they are but idle rumours. It is nothing strange for an Emperor to have a servant warm his bed,” Csevet said. Then realisation and subsequent panic hit; his eyes were wide as they finally met Maia's. “I swear such words do naught to tarnish you! I would have resigned immediately an they did so!”

(Would he have? Or would Csevet have deluded himself into pretending they did not, simply to keep his place at the Emperor’s side?)

Maia raised a soothing hand. “I understand they do the Emperor's dignity no harm. But it is slander against _thee_.”

“The Corazhas and their offices do not take stock in them; they do not hinder me in my job,” said Csevet blankly. “The rumours hurt only Csethiro Zhasan, for which... for which I am profoundly sorry.”

His ears drooped even lower, but Maia waved that aside also.

“I wager Csethiro has her side of the matter well in-hand.” His tone was dry, but for a moment, Maia's grin matched his wife's for intensity in every tooth. He continued more gently, “Had the Empress other worries on this matter, I trust she would have come to me. It is not her I am concerned about, Csevet.”

Abruptly, Csevet finally realised what Maia was trying to say. The Emperor’s secretary was trying to discuss the political ramifications with his liege; Maia's thoughts turned first to whether Csevet was holding up fine under leering eyes and hissed slurs. An Csevet broke and said he could not stand it, Maia would let him go with his blessing.

His Emperor was the kindest man Csevet had ever met. No matter how long he served him, this kindness would never cease to astound Csevet utterly.

Deliberately and gracefully, he prostrated himself once more.

“Serenity, there is no place in Ethuverazhid I would rather be than here.”

_Regardless of any whispers._

Goblin skin did not redden as noticeably as Elf skin did. But Csevet knew his Emperor well; when he arose, Maia's bright eyes and twitching ears showed his pleased embarrassment as surely as Csevet's blush.

“Good,” Maia said simply.

Most remarkably, Csevet had kept his job past this interview. So he coughed lightly and clasped his arms behind his back again.

“We do not assume the duel will take Csethiro Zhasan longer than an hour, Serenity. Therefore, your plan to go riding with the children at eight o'clock remains…”


	3. Chapter 3

‘At dawn’, Csevet had explained, had taken on a very precise, ritual meaning at court: seven o’clock in the summertime, half past nine in winter. Maia made sure he came to the duelling grounds early, at quarter to. He found they were already full.

As duelling had gone out of fashion, this large courtyard, deep in the maze of the Untheileneise Court, should have been empty and run-down. But talk of the empress’ challenge had spread fast. A small army of servants had toiled away here last night, tidying the gravel and polishing the marble column archways surrounding the courtyard.

By tradition, a wide space in the middle had been left empty for the duellers. Around it, the crowd - nobles, but also servants, gardeners, the pneumatic operator girls, and a great many couriers - jostled each other for a better view. Maia could spot Captain Vizhenka, Lord Pashavar and Marquess Lanthevel, and even the Lord Chancellor near the front.

Of course, nobody would dare jostle His Imperial Serenity. The crowd parted before Maia: hushed, eyes wide, bowing low. What were they discussing? Did they set wagers on who would win? Or did they debate whether his wife or his secretary had shared his bed the night before? Maia kept his back straight and his eyes only forward as he swept towards Lord Berenar.

At his side strode Telimezh, his hand already on his sword.  Kiru brought up the rear, calm but alert, with a medicine bag on her shoulder. His nohecharei were keenly aware that Vana Tazhedar might go mad with shame at being bested by the empress and turn his fury on the emperor.

On his other side walked Csevet. There was no sign that yesterday he had knelt, trembling, and offered to resign; he was as serene and graceful as Maia had ever seen him. His poise heartened Maia, even as he recognised it was pretense.

“Serenity, Mer Aisava,” said Berenar with a bow and a nod respectively.

Then he captured the two in a complex discussion about the rights of the factory workers of Sevezho, as though the empress duelling over the honour of a secretary was a quotidian affair.

Maia was glad of it. He trusted Csethiro. It was unworthy of him to fret that she might stumble on the new stones, or misjudge her opponent's reach, or strike with anything less than perfect precision. It was just that fretting was his habit, and habits were hard to break.

“On the matter of legislation pertaining to fire safety, we have been reliably informed that - ”  Csevet cut off abruptly and Maia followed his gaze.

She was resplendent.

Csethiro was dressed not in her usual skirts, but in elegant military dress. The only jewelry she wore were the heavy earrings Maia had gifted her at their wedding; they glinted in the early morning sun. Her thin blade was stamped prominently with the Drazhadeise house seal (Beshelar had squawked when Maia suggested sending her the sunblade last night), and tied to her belt in the flamboyant Barizheise style. A sash in imperial white was draped over her jacket.

Csethiro, her attire proclaimed, was here as the champion of Edrehasivar Zhas.

(Maia had, of course, seen her legs in far more glory than the loose breeches she wore, but never _in_ _public_. Amidst his awe, he felt his face heat. He had no doubt that by next week, half the fashionable ladies in Cetho would be scandalising the court in breeches and their brothers' military jackets.)

A small smile played on Csethiro's face, as though she guessed at all his thoughts. She looked remarkably relaxed. Surrounding her were a group of women Maia recognised as Vedero's ‘friends’: Vedero herself, Arbelan Zhasanai, his aunt Merrem Vizhenka, and a dozen other brilliant and ferocious women. Maia had wondered where Csethiro had spent the previous evening and night - clearly, it had been in battle plans. The women were chatting amicably among themselves, and what worries Maia had faded at the sight of their casualness.

Csevet, on the other hand, abruptly lost his composure. He gave a very low moan, and then shut his teeth on it with a clack.

But before he could turn to his secretary, Csethiro was before him. All Maia’s other thoughts fled. She went down one knee, her gaze never leaving his, and her smile widened into a grin. His mouth was dry.

“Serenity,” she said.

The picture they made, Maia thought dimly as the crowd around them roared approval, was like something out of a blue-backed novel. Or a song - except no songs had half-goblin emperors and female knights. And because it wasn't a song, when she rose, their gazes still locked, he could not kiss his champion, or tuck a flower into her hair as a token. But he did hold her hands.

In any case, he didn't wish to offend her competence by offering a prayer or good wishes. Instead he said quietly, “Csevet tells me the Tazhedada are responsible for one-third of the wool production in Thu-Athamar. An could'st avoid permanently wounding their youngest…”

Csethiro laughed at him.

She moved on to Csevet afterwards. The two considered each other for a long moment, while the crowd held its breath. Csethiro's gaze was thoughtful; Csevet’s ears were twitching. Of course, both were far too well-mannered to speak openly here. Maia resolved to clear whatever Csevet had planned for this evening and have a long dinner with them both in the Acethmeret.

For now, Csevet merely bowed low with a murmured, “Zhasan.”

“Mer Aisava,” said Csethiro, and responded with a deep curtsy as though she were in skirts.

Judging by the murmurs of approval and even several cheers, the onlookers found this exchange satisfactory. Csethiro nodded approvingly at Telimezh and strode into the centre of the empty space, where she began to limber up. Her companions had melted into the crowd.

Except for one. Maia saw suddenly that there’d been one man at Csethiro’s side - Prince Idra. Like Csethiro, Idra carried a sword at his hip. Spotting him was what had startled Csevet before; as Idra bowed to Maia, the secretary stared at the young man in frank dismay.

“We are proud to serve as Cousin Csethiro's second,” Idra said. Before Maia could process that, he added hastily, “Though of course seconds fight very rarely nowadays; we trust that our cousin will finish quickly without our help.”

“ _Rarely_ is not _never_ , Prince Idra,” said Csevet. His voice was very strained, as though he were trying hard not to scream.

Idra frowned.

“We know. But we are aware of what this duel represents - of the message it sends. We wish to demonstrate that the Drazhada stand behind the emperor and his administration. And we wish to show our personal gratitude to _you_ , Mer Aisava. We are aware also of the times you have spoken up for us.”

Csevet's face was bright pink. That didn't stop his hands from flexing as though to snatch Idra’s sword away, propriety be damned.

“We _did_ discuss it with Cousin Csethiro and Aunt Vedero first,” said Idra, a touch defensive.

A lot of what Maia did as emperor consisted of letting the people around him talk while he organised his own feelings and perspective. A hasty word from the emperor could lead to a great deal of turmoil, after all. But here he could not help putting in, quite drily, “But _not_ with your imperial cousin.”

Were he not a prince of the Untheileneise Court, Idra would have surely rolled his eyes.

“Only because you would not hide it from Mer Aisava, and Mer Aisava would disapprove.”

“You do not believe _we_ disapprove?”

“No,” said Idra. “We do not.”

Maia considered it. Were the prince merely brash, wanting to prove he was as brave as his young aunt, he _would_ have disapproved. But even Maia knew that the last time the position of second was deadly rather than ceremonial was over a century ago. Besides, was this not politically prudent? Perhaps wagging tongues could twist the empress defending her husband's supposed bed-warmer into something vulgar, but it was near impossible to do the same for the popular Prince Idra.

And he could not help but be warmed by Idra's vote of confidence.

“You believe right,” said Maia. “Go then, cousin, with our blessing, and watch our empress' back.”

Idra grinned at him - a little relieved, Maia saw. He bowed again, and went to Csethiro’s side.

Lord Berenar, who had been silent throughout all this, suddenly chuckled.

“Yes,” he said. “It certainly sends a message to everyone here, the emperor's wife and the emperor's heir courting injury for Mer Aisava.”

With a start, Maia realised that _everyone here_ was comprised mostly of commoners. Despite his fears, the majority of the onlookers weren't here to bet against Csethiro or make bawdy jokes about what Csevet did at night. They wanted to support one of their own who'd done well, and to see him supported by the people they had pledged their allegiance to: the emperor, the empress, and the heir. Sending a message indeed.

Csevet's second strangled moan (or was it a laugh?) was cut off by the arrival of Vana Tazhedar.

To his credit, Tazhedar neither cursed nor shuddered at the sight of all the members of the imperial family lined up against him. When he saw Idra he paled, and when he met Maia’s gaze - Maia reminded himself to keep his face smooth - he paled further. But he bowed with grace to the emperor and empress. His second, a shorter man who _did_ begin to tremble when he spotted Idra, bowed much more jerkily.

“Dach’osmer Tazhedar, we give you one chance to recant your words and make truce,” said Csethiro in a clear, strong voice.

It was a ritual saying before the start of a duel over honour. The offer was almost never taken in the Elfenlands: an truce could have been made so simply, the opponents would not have had to duel in the first place. (Goblins, Maia had been told, were far more likely to haggle before duels of honour, though that itself could have been slander.)

Now too, Tazhedar merely drew his sword in response. There was a hint of a sneer on his face. As both seconds stepped away, Csethiro followed suit. Fretting truly was the hardest habit to break; Maia tucked his hands into his sleeves so that he would not wring them, and made sure his ears showed polite inquisitiveness rather than anxiety. He could not help the thumping of his heart.

Unlike Maia, Csethiro did not lose her cool at the sight of real steel against her for the first time. The two duellers circled slowly, sizing each other up. Was Tazhedar thinking of what would happen if he seriously hurt the empress? Or was he just considering how to use his greater reach? Elven duels were not generally fought to death, but neither were they fought only to first blood. They were fought until one person yielded, and Maia knew from the set of Csethiro’s shoulders that no matter what happened, that person would not be her.

Csethiro struck first.

It was a business-like strike - a test of her opponent. Tazhedar parried with a flourish, and returned with an equally extravagant attack. Their blades clashed again, and a third time, and a fourth, and then there was a flurry of strikes too quick for Maia to follow. When they disengaged, the sleeve of Csethiro’s fine new military coat was stained red, but Tazhedar had two bloody marks on his cheek.

Maia could practically hear Csevet grinding his teeth from anxiety.

The duellers continued as they started: Csethiro swinging her sword economically and precisely, a foot soldier’s style, in contrast to Tazhedar’s more outrageous attacks. Csethiro had little choice in this matter, Maia realised in dismay: she was smaller than Tazhedar, and would surely tire before him were she to act as boldly. The crowd around them was hushed. He could hear Csethiro panting harshly.

Triumph glinted in Tazhedar’s eyes. He lunged forward - a killing strike to the heart - and someone in the crowd (was it Maia himself?) cried out.

Csethiro grinned.

Quick as a snake, she danced forward, her steps no longer at all soldierly. The pattern she swung her sword in was just as elaborate and over-embellished - and just as quick. Tazhedar’s sword flew from his grasp.

It fell in front of Maia’s feet. As the crowd hollered and stamped their feet in delight, Telimezh hurriedly tucked it into his belt. The young Prince Idra actually whooped; Csevet sighed in sheer relief. Maia himself could not utter a single sound. If he did, he would surely yell as incoherently and delightedly as the young pneumatic girls on the other side of the courtyard.

There was blood on Csethiro’s sleeve and white sash; there was blood on Tazhedar’s face and jacket. Both were panting in exertion. The tip of Csethiro's sword was tucked under Tazhedar’s chin. The courtier was crimson from shame and fury. Csethiro briefly caught Maia’s eye, and whatever she found there pleased her. A bright, fierce smile blossomed on her face.

“Goblin tricks from Ethuverazhid Zhasa - ” sneered Tazhedar, who Maia judged had lost his head along with his sword. (Though when he thought to glance to Captain and Merrem Vizhenka, he found them looking identically satisfied. Goblins had far more experience duelling than elves.)

“ _Yield_ ,” said Csethiro.

Her sword was very near his neck and she held it very steadily.

“We yield,” Tazhedar spat.

Csethiro withdrew her blade, turned away from her opponent, and saluted Maia and Csevet with it crisply. This was Tazhedar’s traditional cue to kneel and repent, and the onlookers' cheering subsided as they leaned in to hear his words. Whatever grace Tazhedar had held before the duel, he found it impossible to reclaim after being bested by a young woman, right on the seeming edge of victory. The courtier knelt very grudgingly, still red in the face.

“Serenity, we recant our words and apologise for them,” he managed.

Maia’s eyes flickered to his side. Csevet was looking very prim - the exact way he did when he’d finally managed to wrangle the Corazhas into accepting Maia’s will. Yesterday he had knelt, and trembled, and offered to resign because of other people’s cruelty. Maia’s gaze swung to Csethiro, who nodded, and then to Tazhedar.

“We are glad to hear you recant,” he said mildly. “But we do not believe it is us who is due the apology.”

Csethiro added, “It is not us or our husband your words meant to wound, thus it is not us or our husband you should apologise to.”

This was too much for the courtier’s pride. Tazhedar turned a truly outraged face to Csethiro. “To his _who_ \- ”

He cut off abruptly. Csethiro’s blade had appeared right under his eyeball.

“Wouldst try a second round with us?” she asked quietly.

He was wounded, the crowd was beginning to mutter angrily, Prince Idra had his hand on his sword, his second had disappeared, and for once, his emperor had allowed the thunder to show on his face. The sword at his face was covered in his own blood. Tazhedar slumped.

“No, Zhasan,” he said.

The blade retreated and Tazhedar turned to Csevet. “We beg you accept our apology, Mer Aisava.”

There were times to press one’s advantage, and there were times when pressing would be harmful. Setheris might have made Tazhedar spell out his mistakes. But there was no telling what he’d say if pressed - whether he’d repeat the insults verbatim and thus spread them further. Csevet was both a fine political player and, judging by the pinkness of his ears, overwhelmingly flustered that the imperial couple had defended him so ardently in the first place.

He inclined his head in acknowledgment and said, “We accept it.”

“Then our quarrel is over,” said Csethiro.

She sheathed her sword neatly and walked to Maia. Csethiro, sweat-streaked and bloodied, in breeches and with strands of hair falling from her simple bun, looked in this instant lovelier to him than she had on their wedding day. Propriety, Maia decided, had surely been broken in fifty different ways already. When his champion reached him, he swept her into a kiss fit for songs.

(From then on, the rumours shifted, to some extent, to: _Don't you feel sorry for Mer Aisava? The emperor's secretary has to walk side-by-side with the emperor's guard dog._ But that satisfied all parties involved fine.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first time writing TGE fic and I know it's a bit disjointed. But I'd love to hear what you think! :)


End file.
